Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

If you once understand an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy.

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The tragic element in poetry is like Saturn in alchemy, the Malevolent, the Destroyer of Nature ; but without it no true Aurum Potabile, or Elixir of Life, can be made.

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With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!

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The warriors that fought for their country, and bled, Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed; No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes. They died in their glory, surrounded by fame, And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim; They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

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By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited.

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Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

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The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.

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Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.

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I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart

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Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.

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Hope has as many lives as a cat or a king.

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Defeat may be victory in disguise.

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The everyday cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vibration and its hands a regular motion; and when they cease to hang upon its wheels, the pendulum no longer swings, the hands no longer move the clock stands still.

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But ah! what once has been shall be no more! The groaning earth in travail and in pain Brings forth its races, but does not restore, And the dead nations never rise again.

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Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny.

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Sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great.

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There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.

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The poor too often turn away unheard, From hearts that shut against them with a sound That will be heard in heaven.

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Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Air Quotes , Clouds Quotes

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.

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